


Any Other Way

by Indigo2831



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: 118 Family, Buck Is A Rockhead, Depression, Emotional BUck, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Episode Tag: s4e05 Buck Begins, Fire Fam - Freeform, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s04e05 Buck Begins, Uncle Buck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:01:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigo2831/pseuds/Indigo2831
Summary: 'Buck Begins' 4.05 tag.  Buck thought he could breeze over the fallout of learning about Daniel, but he's trapped in a vicious cycle of self-doubt and depression.  Athena and the 118's newest and cutest member, Nia, helps him though.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Athena Grant, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Nia Wilson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 94





	Any Other Way

**Author's Note:**

> There was one major issue I had with the otherwise wonderful "Buck Begins." This story addresses that. Please let me know what you think.

Fire is hypnotic. It is parasitic. It is destruction in its purest form. 

When Buck gives Saleh his oxygen, he knows the sacrifice he’s making. He knows how vulnerable he is. The heat from the fire is spectacular, baking him from inside out. The same turnouts that protect him from the fire also trap heat. 

His skin blisters from the proximity of the flames. It’s so searingly painful that Buck screams. The fire snatches the sound, encouraged by his growing weakness, and looms closer, roars hotter. 

The sprinklers kick on, and Buck leaps on the precious time it buys him time to rig a quick-and-dirty pulley system to try to use physics and sheer will to lift the tanker off Saleh. There’s a voice in his head that calculates the weight of the tanker and cackles at the futility of it all. 

The voice sounds eerily like his father. 

Buck heaves and pulls and fights with a feral determination that has him screaming into the blaze. From agony and the impending failure. He was conceived and born into this world, not as a beloved son or even a replacement son, but a body of marrow and a mission unfulfilled. Buck twists the rope around his forearm, secures it under his arm, plants his feet in the steaming cement, and cranks his entire body downward, pulling so hard the pain is eclipsed by numbness and stars glimmer in front of his vision. Brighter than the glinting white of the flames that lick across the ceiling. And more pervasive than the misplaced grief he’s carried in his entire life. 

If he can’t free Saleh—a pleasant, angelic spirit that has literally used his diminished breaths to thank him—Buck isn’t leaving this factory.

Because death has never been Buck’s greatest fear. Being alone was, and he’s lived that way for the greater part of 29 years. He’s literally traveled the world in an attempt to find his place, and firefighting was as close as he’s ever going to get. There’s a sorrowful peace in his decision. 

The fire leeches away the remaining air. The heat continues to cook him. His strength weakens. The tanker hasn’t moved an inch. 

There’s an explosion somewhere in the distance, and the force of it buckles his knees. The good news is the smoke will kill him long before the flames. 

He purposely doesn’t think of Maddie’s baby—the niece he’ll never meet. He closes his eyes and stops conserving his oxygen. Not welcoming the inevitable but not fighting it either. 

The rope snaps taut. And Buck freezes, unable to understand. He peers back to find the 118 taking the rope. Eddie meets his eyes, and Buck nods, falling in line with the only family he’s ever really had. Together, they lift the tanker long enough to pull Saleh free. 

Buck doesn’t remember how he gets out of the building. Reality starts to burn around the edges, leaving charred holes in his memory. The next thing he remembers is Hen and Chim stripping him of his turnouts to pour water over his head and in his eyes. 

To fight fires is to walk a tightrope of extremes. To get so hot that it cycles back to cold. So, even if his body is gnarled and twisted by the cramps of heat exposure and dehydration, Buck shivers and recoils from the water and ice packs that are so cold they register as neon heat. 

“I know, buddy, I know. We gotta cool you down. You know the drill,” Chimney’s voice rumbles closely to his ear. 

Air scrapes agonizingly on each inhale and he can’t stop coughing. Tears stream from his irritated eyes and Buck can’t tell if it’s his body’s way of clearing the grit and smoke out of his eyes or if he’s crying. Living with the knowledge of Daniel, and a gold-stamp confirmation that his parents never truly wanted him feels more impossible than lifting a 800-pound tanker singlehandedly. 

Hen presses an oxygen mask to his face and cradles him when he fights against it. “We’re right here! Stay with us, Buck,” Hen says and even the pleading in her tone resonates in his smoke-filled brain. 

He clings to Hen, much like he had after collapsing after the tsunami. Another little boy he couldn’t save. 

Hen seems to understand his inner turmoil, and focuses on the proverbial destruction raging inside of him. She physically turns his head, swiping a thumb over his streaming eyes, so he could see Chim and Eddie working calmly on Saleh. “He’s alive, Buck. You saved his life. Now just settle down, okay? We got you.” 

And it helps, like a balm on the ragged edges of his soul to the point where living and facing this gobsmacking new reality doesn’t seem so inconceivable. Slowly, breathing becomes less like a study in masochism though smoke still lingers in his lungs, clogging his throat. His chest aches and his head throbs. His arms and back glow with a bright kind of pain. But he can focus and speak and at least hear their words of encouragement, even if he’s not ready to absorb them yet. 

Hen listens to his chest for what has to be the eleventh time in ten minutes. There’s no getting out of going to the hospital. He has a stack of signed contracts from a settled lawsuit to prove it, but he insisted on waiting until Saleh had been en route to ensure that he gets treated first. Hen guides the oxygen mask back up to his mouth and nose, and encourages deep breaths. “Lie back, Buck.” 

He does as he’s told, closing his eyes so as not to see the ceiling of the ambulance. Hen settles a new cold back beneath his neck. He’s suddenly overcome with a surge of dread that slices through the messy, knotted tangles of anger and resentment. He whisks off the mask. “Don’t call Maddie.” His voice is a sandblasted facsimile of what it used to be. 

Hen’s face creases with frustration. “She’d want to know.” 

But Buck shakes his head. It’s not out of pettiness. “Please. Don’t want her to worry.” 

She softens, brushing his wet hair off his steaming forehead. “Will do.” 

###

Every day after Daniel is hard. Some are downright impossible. 

At first, Buck thinks he can breeze right through it with a bit of extra therapy, self-help books and a dogged attempt to surpass another one of life’s unexpected and traumas hurdles to catch up on a race he always seems to be losing, being lapped by others. 

But even though Buck lived in the movie magic, there wasn’t some poetic closure that filled the deepening hollowness inside of him. His parents had never outright said that he, EVAN, had been wanted for more than spare, defective parts. As much as he fights it, Buck 3.0 backslid to Buck 1.0 and even a newer darker version of Buck that had never previously existed. Drinking to take the edge off. Fucking just to feel wanted. Taking risks on rescues that even Buck 1.0 would balk at to rack up those saves since that’s the only reason why he exists. But if no one wanted him—not his parents, not Abby, not Ali, not the seven women he’d gone on dates with—then what did it matter if how he lived, if he lived?

If Daniel hadn’t gotten sick, he never would’ve been born.

But the only thing that’s tethering him to hope even on days when he peels himself out of bed on particularly hard days is how the 118 has rallied around him. They make excuses to drop by the loft and lecture him when he does something colossally rockheaded. Athena has threatened to arrest him at least twice, even slapped the cuffs on him after tackling an arson suspect, and it makes Buck feel inexplicably cared for. 

Buck sits in his Jeep as the engine ticks and the swinging keys tap against the dashboard. He lets his head thunk against the headrest and begins the arduous process of assembling some disparate pieces of himself hoping that he can at least project a sense of normality. He squints hatefully at the warm sunlight, wishing there was somewhere dark and rainy he could hide, but he has a date with a very special lady. One he actually intends to keep.

Hen meets him on the porch as Nia bounces up and down as she sees him walk up the driveway. Hen hooks a finger around the strap of her black lightning bolt overalls before she vibrates off the porch. 

One look at Nia’s halo of curls and her chittering “Booky! Boooookeeee!” and his problems are completely whisked away in a tornado of cuteness, sticky baby hands, and hugs. 

“Got tested last night, Hen,” he winks as Nia launches herself off the porch and into Buck’s arms. “All clear.” 

“Good to know. What kind of sorcery did you pull on my baby? You watch her once and she’s suddenly obsessed with you.” 

“What can I say, I do a mean Cookie Monster.” 

“What do you have planned for today?” 

Buck runs through his list. “Uh, couple of MMA fights and then maybe we’ll hang out at the docks,” he deadpans. “What do you think, Nia? You want to learn chokeholds?” 

Nia cheers. Hen glares. 

“A scratch on my girl is a scratch on your ass,” Hen warns pointing a finger in warning. 

“We’re going to the park. There are some safe kids’ activities there. We’re going to play!” 

“Yeah!” Nia bleats. 

“Just give me two solid hours so I can study, and I’ll owe you one. If you could bring her back exhausted, that’d be great too.” 

Nia flips backward in Buck’s arms to hang upside down and scream-giggles. Buck tightens his hold but he’s used to her playing this game of “Let’s Give Uncle Buck Heart Attacks.” He’s only half-dropped her once and she squealed with laughter after the horrifying thump. “I think that’s a Mission Impossible. Even for me.” 

Spending time with Nia feels like great practice for when his niece arrives, but she’s a special little creature in her own right. They sing nonsense songs at the top of their lungs. They watch and carefully feed the animals at the petting zoo. They swing on the swings and traverse all the playground equipment (which is not firefighter-sized). They eat lunch outside, and Nia ends up in his lap packing away his French fries after picking over her healthy kid’s meal. Buck buys her the largest stuffest dragon he can find at one of the socially-distanced, kid-friendly stalls. 

It’s abnormally hot for early autumn, and they’ve been playing for hours. Buck is pleasantly sweaty and Nia is too, her golden hair frizzing at the crown of her head. There’s water in the car, but it’s probably steam after hours in the sun. After disinfecting a water fountain with wet wipes, he lifts Nia up and lifts her to drink her fill. 

“All right, kid, let’s hit the road!” He presents his hand to Nia. Hers is so small she can only comfortably hold the middle two fingers of his hand, but she does so, tightly. Trustingly. 

They hop over cracks and kick rocks, heedless to the fond looks of other parkgoers. He can’t imagine how anyone can deny her anything, let alone the love and validation his parents withheld from him. His heart flutters with joy as she refuses to let go of the dark blue and shiny black-scaled dragon he bought for her when he buckles into her carseat. Unable to help himself, he smacks a kiss on her forehead. “I had fun today, Ms. Nia.” 

Nia just releases a few peals of her unending supply of giggles. 

Buck retreats into the sun and closes the door to jog around to the driver’s side of his Jeep. He moves to unlock the door with his keys, but they’re not in his hand. Frowning, he tugs on the handle. Locked. 

He pats down his pants, calmly at first, then with a growing frenzy when he produces nothing. His heart rate clamors up a few notches as he searches the sun-drenched pavement for a glint of metal from his dropped keys. But there’s nothing. He throws himself on the ground, not remotely fazed by his knees smacking against the concrete.  _ Nothing. _

Buck’s stomach lurches with a dread so strong he thinks he might vomit as he stands up, looks in the back seat, and finds his discarded keys on the seat next to Nia. All of the doors locked.

As a trained first responder, Buck knows how to power through the panic in life and death situations—and he’s been through more than most. He’s joked with other members about the dumb things people on their calls do when they’re overcome with fear or put in a dangerous situation. But as a firefighter, he knows how on a hot, bright day like today the temperature in a car can reach over 135 degrees in a matter of minutes, and just what that can do to little children like Nia. He wastes a moment overcome with a horror so profound it chills him. 

His car isn't new, so he can’t coax Nia to press a button on a fob. He glances in the car to see that Nia is watching him with big, scared eyes, still clinging to the dragon that’s nearly as big as she is. 

Buck’s hands are shaking when he brings them up to the window and forces himself to smile even though he’s veering into unadulterated panic the likes of which he’s never felt before. “Hey, baby. We’re good. I’ll be right back.” 

Buck has an entire rescue kit, including a window-breaker under the passenger seat of his truck, which he can’t access without his keys. The irony of that leaves him punching the open air.

So instead he glances around the lot, looking for anyone or anything or anyone that can help him. There’s nothing but a few abandoned mini-vans and a pick-up truck parked under a grove of trees. Buck bolts over to the truck, praying that there are tools of any kind in the back. He flings a paint-covered tarp back, but finds nothing but discarded fast food containers and a collection of dead leaves. 

Switching tactics, Buck looks to the ground along the grass next to the curb. Heart racing, he walk-hops down the curb, towards the car, speedily scanning the ground until he finds a sizable rock. He turns it over in his hands and whoops when he finds that it has a jagged, bluntly pointed end. He flies back to the car, running so hard his legs quickly burn. 

Nia is openly wailing now. He’s drenched in sweat as he returns and presses his hand to the back window. “Hey, Nia! It’s okay, you’re okay! Look, I’m right here!” 

Nia reaches her hand out for Buck, but is held in place by the secured straps of the carseat. She only screams louder. “Boookiie! Out, get out, please!” 

“One minute, sweetheart! Buck will have you out in one minute! Can you hug your dragon for me? Can you squeeze him tight?” 

Nia sniffles, two fat tears rolling down her cheeks, but she does, bringing both of her arms around the dragon’s neck. Buck smiles, chin trembling in tune with his entire body. “Good girl, Nia. Now, can you close your eyes and lower your head?” 

“Like nigh’-nigh’ prayers?” Nia asks, confused. 

Buck sputters. She’s so smart. “Yes, say your goodnight prayers for me! Say them really loud!” 

Nia clenches her eyes shut, presses her little palms together around the fluffy blue bulk of the dragon’s body, and lowers her head, reciting her prayers and mangling some of the words. 

Buck wastes no time walking to the front passenger side window. Car windows are difficult to break for safety and by design. Unlike the movies, he knows he can’t shatter the glass with a practiced strike of his elbow, but it should break with a pointed, precise application of force. 

He palms the blunted end of the rock and heaves the triangular edge towards the bottom right of the window. Once. Twice. Three times. The window cracks, but doesn’t shatter. He allows himself a truncated, impatient breath, and hits the window again with a grunt of rage. It shatters, shards of glass flying inward, but hopefully not backwards. Nia hollers again, scared by the thunderous noise. 

“I’m sorry, Nia. Hold still! Buck will be there in one second!” Rock abandoned, he reaches into the window still bordered with glass, and reaches around back to unlock the backdoor. Finally, after an eternity of spine-tingling terror, he unbuckles Nia from her carseat, carefully brushing a few pieces of safety glass off the dragon and pant leg. 

He cradles her to his body, bouncing and shushing her as she cries against him. “I’m sorry, Nia. Buck’s so sorry,” he whispers into her hair. He’s so rattled by failure and fear and the swirling what-ifs that his knees are shaking and he’s a hair’s breadth away from tears. 

And then he feels Nia’s little hand fisted in the collar of his Nike shirt, one tiny hand lightly patting his back like Mama Hen. “ _ Bookie _ .” 

###

Athena’s pops off her latex gloves and flings them in the trash with a grimace. She wasn’t much of a germaphobe before the pandemic—a lifer patrol cop definitely couldn’t be—but now she swears she feels germs multiplying on the pads on her fingers. She squirts a glob of sanitizer on her hands after turning in the keys to her patrol car and heads to the locker rooms to change. When she returns the keys to her cruiser, the desk sergeant flags her down as she passes. “Sergeant Grant?” 

“I’m off-duty...finally. I’m looking forward to a quiet night on my patio with my husband and a bottle of wine. Please don’t ruin that.” 

The officer gulps, holding the receiver of the phone. “Well...um, a call came in asking for you specifically. Apparently, there was a commotion at Sunshine Park. Some onlookers called dispatch about…” he nervously looks at his notes, “a baby locked in a car.” 

Athena was confused. She put a hand on her hip. “Now why would they ask for me? EMTs can handle it.” 

“The person on scene said his name is Evan Bu…”

Athena is already running out the door to her freshly cleaned cruiser. She blares the lights and sirens on the way to park and focuses on the drive and clearing traffic, not whatever danger has befallen the unluckiest member of the 118. 

It had only been weeks since Bobby had called her from a massive factory fire, convinced that Buck wouldn’t make it out alive. The next day he’d given her the cliff notes of yet another bombshell that had been detonated in Buck’s life, and ever since she’d been holding her breath. When Buck gets sad, he gets desperate and even more impulsive. She’d tried to keep him close in those weeks, but anything close to maternal attention or expressed love quickly and effectively shut him down. 

Mama Athena is a far greater force than Officer Grant, and that’s who arrives at the scene at the west entrance of Sunshine Park. A cursory scan of the scene reveals nothing too alarming, no limbs pinned under firetrucks or Buck hanging off the edge of a sinkhole. She ventures towards the EMTs, Nia’s recognizable puffs of hair and lightning bolt overalls...and Buck holding her protectively. 

The octave in fear in Buck’s otherwise husky voice sets Athena immediately on edge. “Can you just check her again? I want to make sure…” Nia rests her head on Buck’s shoulder, yawning as if exhausted. 

The paramedic channels visible irritation into a placating smile. “We’ve checked this little one twice, sir. Her temp is good, she’s not dehydrated. There’s not a scratch on her. She just needs a meal and a nap. Maybe some ice cream, right, sweetheart?” 

Nia smiles tiredly.

Athena steps forward and meets Buck’s eyes. His pale, drawn face is topped off with those haunted eyes that he’s been sporting for the last few weeks, their normal light and mischief had long burned out. It's replaced by the silver of tears and palpably fear when Athena steps closer. 

“Ma’am. Will you humor him one more time and check her over again?” The authority in her voice indicates that it’s not a question but a request. She sighs and opens her gloved hands for Nia and she reluctantly lets herself be carried to the bus by the EMT. 

Once Nia is out of earshot, the fragments of Buck’s composure fall away completely and he sags against the bumper of his Jeep, burying his face in his hands. “I was being careful. I swear. Is Hen here?” He pants. “She’s going to kill me.”

“Buck.” Athena calls firmly. “Relax and tell me what happened.” 

He takes a deep breath and quickly recounts the story. 

The one thing that endeared her to the Evan Buckley that got down and dirty in firetrucks and made boneheaded decisions was his almost pathological need to help people. But the dysfunctional and dangerous flip side to that is the fallout when he can’t. It’s hard for any first responder to shake off unsuccessful calls, but with a bleeding heart like Buck, it’s an entirely different and painful process. And with the hurricane of misfortune he’s been withstanding for the past month (and frankly years), she’s not surprised that the guy who scales burning buildings without batting an eye is undone by locking Hen’s baby in a car.

He rakes his hands through his hair until it’s fluffed into erratic, curls, muttering in a bereft, broken stream of thought. 

Nia whines, small hands reaching out towards Buck. He scrubs a hand over his mouth as if to physically force down emotions. He takes a step towards her, and his knees bow and buckle under the perceived weight of his failures. 

Athena is a strong woman, but not even she can’t support 215 pounds of distraught firefighter. It doesn’t stop him from trying though. She uses her body to buttress a woozy Buck just as he reflexively reaches for the rollbar of his Jeep, and they manage to keep him on his feet. But Athena feels the uneven, harsh glide of his ribs and sees the clamminess of his skin. The EMT offers her assistance by guiding Buck’s head between his legs, and taking his vitals. She meets Athena’s eyes over Buck’s back and flashes the elevated BP she’d written on her glove. “Calm him down. Fast,” she mouths. 

Athena feels dampness on her hand and tries to conjure up a bit of surprise when she finds blood. “You’re a mess, Buck.” 

The EMT pulls up the sleeve of his left arm to reveal a series of bloody scrapes and a couple of nasty lacerations, perversely sparkling with embedded safety glass. One thing she’s learned about Buck is that his tolerance for pain is higher than most women’s—a terrible badge he’s earned through tragedy. He probably hadn’t even felt them.

“Use your words, Buck. What’s going on?” 

He lifts his head, sputtering with anxiety. “What if this ruins the adoption?” He gasps. “What if the social worker finds out?” He spirals as the EMT treats his arm, first irrigating it then plucking it free of glass. Nia thankfully is preoccupied by a glove balloon her partner made. “Hen  _ wanted her _ so badly that they fight for her every single day. Hen damn near died in Texas because she needed the money for special deployment. She’s wanted and she’s loved and...and  _ I broke it. _ AGAIN. If they lose her because of me…” Buck rants. 

Athena physically moves the EMT aside so she can crouch in front of him. She cups his cheek in her hand and waits until frantic blue eyes meet hers. “Listen to me, Buck, you know as well as I do that people make mistakes. They smash their fingers in car doors. They catch knives. They fall asleep with the iron on. You got her out in what?” 

“Less than five minutes,” the EMT supplies.

“Less than five minutes. Hen let Nia go out for a day of fun with a decorated, tsunami-surviving firefighter and a friend who would literally break glass with his bare hands to save her. No one is safer than they are with you, Bucko. The fact that she let you take her is proof of that. Now, I need you to calm down before I have to smack some sense into you.” 

The EMT finishes bandaging Buck’s arm and pats his back lightly. “I know I’m not in this, but I totally am willing to help. Half of my crew worships you, Buckley.” 

###

Nia babbles happily in the back of Buck’s Jeep heedless of the plastic duct-taped to the window. She slurps on her juice box and points at the things she recognizes, like dogs and trees. 

Athena parks outside of Hen’s house but doesn’t make a move to get out of the car. Instead, she grabs Buck’s hand and squeezes it tightly. Buck had been silent for the entire drive, drifting back to that deadened, brittle place he’d been at the factory. 

It always circled back to that. Reinforced by his parents’ absolution that he was born to save someone. And that’s what he did now. 

Buck squeezes Athena’s hand back. “I’ve been trying to move on from...everything,” he says, startling himself. “But I’m stuck in this...vicious spin cycle...and I always end back in the same place: my parents never wanted ME. They never said that I wasn’t spare parts for the kid they really loved,” Buck confesses. The ache of tears in his throat render his voice lower and tremulous. “I just...I can’t get beyond it.” 

Athena clicks her tongue threateningly. “Ma and Pa Buckley are grateful our paths have never crossed.” 

Buck laughs brokenly, wiping at his cheeks. 

“My family is...this sprawling mix of people...Black, Gullah, Creole. Stepkids, godkids, people that we met and just claimed. We’re not defined by blood, Buck. We’re defined by love because we _ choose  _ each other. It’s messy and it’s big, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

“Sounds nice.” 

“Well, I don’t mean to offend your parents, but you’re mine now, Buck. Not because you save lives or because I need bone marrow or a kidney, but because I choose it. I choose you, Buck. I want YOU.”

“Athena, you don’t have to…” 

“Look at me.” 

After a long moment, he obliges and he can see that her cheeks are shining with tears, eyes gleaming with intent. With love. “But I do, Buck. I wouldn’t have it any other way. So, when you’re back at this place that tells you that you weren’t wanted or the world would be better off without you or whatever evil that’s kicking around in your head, come talk to me. Your family.” 

A feathery warmth diffuses through him, settling in his chest. And the weight in his chest becomes a bit easier to bear. He leans over the gearshift and hugs Athena, the leather of her jacket squeaking in the sunset pastels of late day. “I love you,” she whispers, kissing his cheek. 

“Love you, too.” 

“Now let’s get this baby home before Hen kicks both of our asses,” Athena jokes, swiping her lipstick off his cheek with her thumb. The way a mother would.

Buck nods and climbs out of the car, reaching back to unbuckle a sleep-hyper Nia. She’s a pleasantly heavy weight against him. Buck waits for Athena and they venture up the walk together, arm in arm. “Does that mean I can call you Mom?” he teases.

“Boy, if you don’t get in the house…”

_ Fin _

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the many people who have claimed me in my life, especially my godmother.


End file.
